I’m on the wrong side of a four and a half hour string of train journeys. I feel like a cheap, badly constructed replica of myself, like I’m made out of cardboard and regret. A pale and shadowy simulacrum, a husk of a man. Everything aches, I can barely summon the energy to stay awake. My mouth tastes of stale spit, a taste that reminds you that you’ve been on the move for too long, that you’re badly dehydrated and in dire need of a decent meal and a cup of tea. I crave sleep like a mad junkie craves the sweet ministrations of his favourite intravenous cocktail. I am not a well man. I am a tired man. I’m still trying to shrug off the cloying embrace of a hangover and the experience of sleeping in a friend’s spare room and a bed that is not my own, a thing which has never sat well with me. I like the comforting familiarity of my home, my seat of power. Being away from it for any length of time leaves me drained. Needless to say this is not a state conducive the rationalised and coherent thought or blogging in general. So in lieu of any thoughts from my own fevered imagination I thought I’d share with you some of the blogs that have really tickled my fancy recently.
Tag Archives: 12 books in 12 months
This week sees me pass something of a milestone. Ali over at 12 Book has decided to go off gallivanting and galumphing across Europe; she’ll be gone for about a month. To fill her blog in her absence she asked for guest posts. I wrote one. It goes up on Wednesday 25th of April. In years to come when the world is a blasted ruin and we all live in caves or cardboard houses, when the sky bleeds acid and the very air is a noxious and cloying poison, Ali will look back on this day and say “That. That right there, is where it all began. Where it all started to go horribly wrong. That was the first, big, mistake.” Probably. I suspect that it won’t come to that though. Probably…
Last month I threw down the gauntlet and it did ring upon the stony flags like a particularly shit bell, a bit flat, not all that sonorous, kind of metaphorical. Despite this some of you rose to the challenge, writing one thousand English words about a heart wrenching picture of a young lady in a yellow macintosh, standing in the rain, holding a grenade. Also she’s crying, it’s beautiful in that sad sombre way that the emotional turmoil of others is. In the intervening month I discovered it was the work of a man called Marek Okon.
I’ve now been ploughing the turbulent skies and seas of the blogoshpere since late February. It has, by and large, been a journey that I have made in solitude. Recently I happened upon another stalwart adventurer who has been making bold journeys into the darkest corners or the blogosphere. Now to dispense with the flowery introduction and get to the point.